Slightly Disturbed
by Doodle6721
Summary: Mrs. Weasley thought it'd be a good idea for the family to see a therapist after what had happened with the war. It seemed to have worked at first. But then George decided it would be funny to tease the poor doctor.
1. Slightly Disturbed

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><p>It had been Mum's idea. The therapist, that is. She thought it would help the family cope with our situation. Mainly me… considering. In all honesty, going to St. Mungo's to sort out my problems was the last thing I needed. But I'd like to see <em>you<em> try saying no to my mother. Especially when she's as torn up as she is.

"So," the elderly man smiled as he looked at me through his smudged glasses, "how are feeling today? Better?"

I shook my head.

"No? Tell me about it."

I shook my head again, "There's nothing much to say. Not much has changed since Monday."

He crossed his legs, allowing the argyle socks to peek out from underneath his trousers. "Well, let's start with the little things then."

"Uh," I started as my mind searched for the tiny differences, "I ate some pudding last night. Made some hangover potion. Oh! I bought an owl!"

"Well, that's new."

"Named 'em Griswold. He has a tendency to bite though." I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers, displaying the many bandages looped around my cuts. "I'm considering sending him to visit Malfoy or Marcus Flint. Either way I'll cause a Slytherin some pain. I'm okay with that."

My therapist coughed, possibly trying to conceal a gasp of surprise. "George, do you really think that would be productive to your healing process?"

I shrugged, "Couldn't hurt."

After about a month of two weekly sessions I got sick of jabbering on about problems I didn't want to talk about or relive. So, I made a game of it. Nothing was more intriguing than making him squirm in his overstuffed leather armchair. Last week I told him my brother and Harry had been chased down by giant spiders. It was the truth. Except for the part when I told him they were wearing tutus. The spiders that is.

"Well," he tugged at his collar as he searched for his words, "uh, well… Let's focus on something positive, shall we? Your sister's wedding is coming up. How's that going?"

"If you knew my sister, Doctor, you'd know that I'm not entirely too happy about the situation."

"Why is that?"

I leaned back on the sofa and brought by hands to rest behind the back of my head. "Ginny gets a bit tense. You look at her the wrong way and she'll hex your bum off. And whatever you do, make sure you don't eat the last chocolate tart. I learned that the hard way."

"Well, that's not too bad."

"Also, Fred and I always thought Ron would end up with Harry. But that was a long shot."

The man in front of me brought his hand up to stroke his white scruff that he considered a beard. "How does that make you feel?"

"How does what make me feel?"

"Saying his name?"

I scrunched my eyebrows. "Fred? Saying Fred's name?"

He nodded.

"Why would it be hard for me to say his name? I spent twenty years with him, I grew up with him, and I spent all my time with him. I've said his name millions, no billions, of times before. It shouldn't be that hard for me to say it now. Look," I hopped up off the couch and onto my feet, "I'll say it again. Fred. Fred. Fred Fred Fred Fred Fred."

"George," he sighed.

"Wait!" I held up a single finger to make him pause. "I can do it from up here." I climbed atop the coffee table. "Fred! Fred! Fred!"

"George."

"And I can say it while tap-dancing!" With that being said I hopped off the furniture and began moving my feet frantically. "Fred! Fred! Freddie Fred Fred!"

"George!"

I stopped, mainly in shock that he raised his voice. Were therapists supposed to do that?

"George, I think we're done for that day. We'll see each other in a few days."

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><p>I smoothed out my copy of today's Daily Prophet to read an article about yet another trial in Azkaban. Dipping my spoon into my bowl of cereal, I scooped up a mouthful and brought it to my lips.<p>

Through my one ear I heard a faint tap-tap on a window on the other side of the house. Pushing out my chair, I carried my breakfast into the other room with me. My mother stood, my therapist's owl perched on the window sill beside her. "What does he have to say?" I asked before stuffing another spoonful into my mouth.

My mother lowered the letter and shot me a concerning look. "He says he thinks that you're… disturbed."

"Disturbed?" I frowned. "And all this time I only thought I was _slightly_ disturbed."

"George," my mother glared with her hands on her hips, "what did you say to Mr. Bishop during your appointment?"

"Oh! That's his name? This whole time I've been calling Doctor."

"George," she warned.

"I didn't do anything," I smirked before turning to retreat back into the kitchen.

"George! What did you do?"

"Sorry, Mum!" I called. "I'm having trouble hearing you! Gotta bad ear!"

"George Weasley!"

I smirked as I took a seat back in my blue chair. "Well," I whispered into the empty room, "I hope I'm making you proud, Forge. One of us had to keep the chaos going."

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	2. Almost

**Hey! So I decided to do a part two to this thing! I had so many positive responses so I thought "Why not?" **

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><p>I sat on the raggedy old quilt at the edge of my bed and let my foot tap against the hardwood floor. Lifting my gaze off of my sock clad feet to stare at what was in front of me I smiled. "I hung out with Angelina again today. She stopped by the shop, saying she had a craving for a laugh. Really I just think she missed me." I sighed, "Do you think there's more to it that that? I mean does she fancy—"<p>

Three solid knocks on the door cut off my questions. I whipped my head to the side as Mum stepped through the threshold with freshly cleaned laundry cradled in her hands. "Georgie dear, I've got your—" She froze and glanced at me warily. "Dear, what are you doing?"

"Talking to Fred," I shrugged.

Mum visibly swallowed a lump in her throat. She sighed and whispered, "George…"

"Mum, it's fine. It makes me feel better. C'mon," I patted at the empty space beside me, "give it a try."

She looked down at me skeptically but inched closer to me anyway. Slowly she made her way onto my right.

I nodded my heads forward, "Go on."

"Sweetie," she started hesitantly, "it's… that's not Fred. Maybe I should owl Mr. Bishop about this."

"Mum," I laid my hand over hers, "I know it's not Fred. It's a close as it's going to get for us." I broke my eye contact to peer into the mirror at my own reflection. "It's almost him. Almost."

"George, I don't think I can do it."

"Is it the ear?" I asked before hopping off the bed to frantically search through the permanent cluttered mess spilling out of the closet. "Because I can fix that! Where is that blasted thing!"

"Maybe if you were to tidy up…"

"Found it!" I grinned triumphantly before shoving the Ireland cap I'd bought at the World Cup. "Better?"

"Sweetie, I can't take you seriously in that hat."

I wiggled my finger at her. "Correction. You mean you can't take _Fred _seriously in the hat. Now, tell Freddie what you did today."

Mum cautiously brought her gaze to the large mirror I had moved from the corner. She wrung her hands nervously as she started to speak. "Well…_ Fred_, I babysat little Victoire today. She's very adorable. You would have loved her..." I slung me arm across Mum's shoulders and pulled her closer. "She has Bill's eyes."

"She's gonna be a looker, Fred! I've got to start developing products to ward off those males. Someone's got to be the protective uncle, right?"

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><p>"I mean, Harry's too responsible for all that and you know Percy would turn his nose up at such antics. And well Ron's all talk, so it <em>has<em> to be my job." I leaned against that armchair in Doctor's office. "And I think I've got just the trick to help little Vickie out."

The elder man opposite me stroked his chin, "Go on."

"Well," I explained, "I figure I've got two options. Create a necklace of sorts that'll keep the boys at a safe enough distance away. Or I get Charlie on my team and we threaten to us one of his dragons to roast any of her boyfriends we disapprove of."

"Now George, do you really believe that that is the right choice."

I shook my head. "No, you're right. It's not. I'll have to use a combination of the two."

He sighed in frustration, "That's not quite what I meant. However, let's look back at this. George why is it that you find comfort in talking to yourself in the mirror?"

"Why doesn't Oliver Wood just shag Katie already?" I shrugged.

"E-excuse me?" he sputtered.

"Look, Doc. Fred was my twin. We did everything together. Played Quidditch, nicked things from Filch, started a joke shop, caused utter mayhem. They only thing we haven't managed to do was grow old together. Or steal a Hogwarts toilet seat. I realize he isn't coming back, but seeing myself is a reminder of him. So why shouldn't I twist it into something good instead of have it haunting me day in and day out?"

The graying man fiddled with his glasses before speaking. "But George, I believe that clinging to your brother is not the right choice for you. Have you thought of trying to let it all go?"

"You mean forget?" He nodded. "Forget my brother? Are you mad? That's not even a remote possibility."

"It's just that all this talking to your dead brother is making you sick. Some might say disturbed."

"You said that," I nodded. "We got your owl last week."

"Yes, I did say that."

"But, Doc," I smiled, "I'm not disturbed. Almost. But I'm not quite fully disturbed."

"Well…" he started.

"Though even if I was, I see no shame in that. I'd rather be mad than lose him twice."


End file.
